1 New Message
by Still-Fighting-It
Summary: Claire has always lived with her dad in Omaha, or at least that's what he's told her. What happens when she finds an old cell phone and learns that her boring life may not be as boring as she thought? Re-posted from my old account.
1. 1 New Message

**A/N: Ok, I'm going to start by saying that if this looks familiar, it's because I posted it a few months ago on my old account, I've decided to edit and repost what I'd already written, and finish the rest of the story. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own any of this, all rights belong to SM.**

Is there anything less fun then living in Omaha? I sure didn't think so. The same old boring people doing the same old boring things, day after day. Everything in my world was repetitive: Get up, go to school, come home, fight with Dad, do homework, eat dinner, go to bed… Lather, rinse, repeat. Living in Omaha was like reading a really boring story, your mind goes all fuzzy and you don't even notice that you aren't taking anything in.

My mind wandered as I exited the large, square, high school. Ok, maybe it wasn't Omaha so much as my school that was boring… Wait, was I talking about my school or my life?

Right, my school.

Every day, all I could think was 'at least I'm a senior.'

Just a few more days I would be 18, only two weeks after that was the graduation ceremony.

I had lived in Omaha, Nebraska my whole life. At almost 18 years old I had never even been out of the state. Or so I was told.

I lived with my dad, Greg. My mom, Monica left us when I was two –she couldn't handle being a mom. Or so I was told.

It's not that I didn't _believe _those things, just that there were always things that didn't match up. For instance, I only had one memory of my mother. It was not a particularly clear memory. I only knew two things about it for sure. One is that it was a rainy Wednesday. The other is that it was at a beach.

So how – if I had never left Nebraska – could I have been at the beach?

I asked my dad about it once; he flipped out and sent me to my room. He always did that when I asked about anything that happened before I was three.

I used to think that it was because he didn't want to talk about my mom, but I just wasn't so sure anymore.

I was pulled from my thoughts when I realized that I've been unsuccessfully trying to unlock my car with my house key, oops. I switched keys –much easier- and threw my school bag in the backseat before opening the driver's side door and sliding in.

I began the drive home. The same boring drive as every day, I couldn't wait to get out of this town. One might think that as a teenage girl I'd be freaked about leaving my friends behind, but I wasn't.

I'd never really been that attached to people. I didn't get along with my dad and all my friends were expendable.

I just didn't feel close to people… I wondered sometimes if there is something wrong with me. Or maybe everyone feels that way. Maybe they pretend to care so they'll fit in. Maybe I'm the only person not bullshitting my way through life…

Maybe I'm over thinking it.

I pulled my car into the driveway, put it in park and yanked the key out of the ignition.

The garage door was up and I could see an ancient, brown Honda parked inside.

My dad was home.

Great.

I mean, really excellent!

I sighed as I got out of my car and walked up the path.

I wondered briefly if I had always been so negative or if today was special.

I felt a slight sadness about my life when I realized that it wasn't that today was special.

I stepped inside the house only to be met by a stack of boxes. Yay! Another random cleaning spree.

Every year or so my dad would go through the entire house. He would sort though all of our things and gets rid of everything we didn't use. It cleaned the house up a lot but it was kind of annoying. He did it because he 'doesn't want to be stuck in the past.'

For some reason I'd never fully understood; I like the past.

When I looked up from the boxes my dad had entered the room.

"Hey, Claire." He said. "You want to take these boxes to the curb? I need to get ready for work. They asked me to take the night shift."

He gestures at the boxes in front of me.

I bit back the sarcastic response. It tried to fight its way up. I gave it a stern talking to and pick up the boxes. They were heavy. He must have found some hidden pile of crap we didn't know about. Amazing.

I contemplated just putting them down. This wasn't _my_ stupid cleaning spree, why the hell should I have to do all this heavy lifting?

I thought better of it, no need to get myself grounded over a few boxes of crap.

The door was still open, which made leaving the house with a stack of boxes in my arms much, much easier.

I made it about halfway down the drive before I lost my grip. The boxes tumbled out of my hands. Most of them just fell. Two of them lost their lids when they hit the ground, one of them spilled its contents all over the ground.

I hauled the un-spill-y boxes to the curb and came back for the other.

I picked up the items one by one, putting them back in their box. Some bits of paper, a matchbook, 34 cents (who throws away coins?) An uneaten candy bar (yuck.)

A few photos caught my eye. In one picture a little girl that I recognized as myself was sitting on a beach. She had both hands raised above her head. In one little fist, she held a handful of sand, in the other; she held the hand of a beautiful woman. A woman who looked very, very much like her. A woman who must be her mother.

I smiled sadly at the cute little scene.

I turn my attention to the other photos. They're pretty lame in comparison; just pictures of the ocean, or else sand, or unknown people smiling and waving at the camera.

I toss the photos into the box; except for the first one, which I tuck safely in my pocket.

There was only one thing left on the ground: an old cell phone. It looked huge to me; although I knew it must have been compact and stylish in its day.

Its day was at least a decade ago.

Still, it interested me. I didn't put it in the box –which I set with the others, by the road - opting instead to carry it inside with me.

I headed upstairs as soon as I got inside, walking past my dad who was on his way out the door.

He mumbled something that sounded like "Took you long enough."

I closed the door to my room and pulled the photo out of my pocket. It was a small wallet sized picture. I put it in exactly the place its name suggested, my wallet. It would be nice and safe there.

Sitting down on my bed, I flipped open the old phone. Blank screen… Duh.

I pressed the power button idly, not really expecting anything to happen. The phone shocked me by coming to life. I stared at it in disbelief for a moment. A small box informed me that the phone has '5 missed calls' and '1 new message.'

I clicked the option to listen to the voicemail and held the phone to my ear.

"Greg? It's Emily!" said a female voice. A really angry female voice. "You have no right to take her away! Do you know what you're doing to your wife? To all of us! Do you even care?"

The woman, Emily, took a shuddering breath.

"It's not what you think! You didn't even hear him out! YOU CANNOT DO THIS, GREG! Get your head out of your ass and call me back"

Why was I still listening to this? It didn't make much sense, and it was loud enough to bust an eardrum.

"You turn your stupid Honda around and bring Claire back to La Push!"

The phone fell from my hand.

**A/N: Thank you for reading.**

**Reviews are like taking a big gulp of soda: sometimes a little painful to swallow, but always refreshing and satisfying. **


	2. Estimated Drive Time: 32 Hours

**A/N: Anyone want to beta for me? My sister used to, but she's a college student who doesn't have time to edit my fanfiction. Your help would be greatly appreciated.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight; if I did I'd have ended with Eclipse (Speaking of which, this story pretty much ignores Breaking Dawn.)**

I sat on my bed, stunned. Somewhere in the back of my mind I registered the fact that I'd dropped the phone. It looked sort of sad, sitting by itself on the light brown carpeting.

The shock slowly faded away; it morphed into confusion. I must have heard wrong.

My hand reached out, almost without my permission and grabbed the phone up off the floor. I told it to replay the message and listened again as this Emily woman yelled at my father. When it was over I replayed it again. I listened to it five and a half times before the phone died.

As I sat, listening to an ancient voicemail over and over my mind flitted through emotions, like looking for a number in a phonebook, searching out the one that fit.

And somewhere near the end of the fourth replay I found it; the right emotion.

Anger.

By the time the phone died I was shaking slightly.

I knew I didn't have the full story, I knew I was jumping to conclusions; I didn't particularly care.

I was being lied to, about what I could not be sure. – that's sort of the point of _lying_ though, isn't it? - But there was defiantly lying going on.

I was not just door-slamming-music-blaring mad. I was throwing-things-punching-people mad, maybe even figure-out-where-to-hide-the-body-later mad. I wasn't the kind of person who usually got mad. Sarcastic, all the time, bitchy, sure; sometimes even laconic. But I didn't usually have a temper.

It was liberating.

I stood up and stomped to my door, barely stopping to fling it open. The handle smashed into the wall of the hallway outside of my room. It left a large, round hole in the drywall.

I couldn't have cared less.

"What the hell, Dad?" I screeched, storming down the stairs.

I remembered that he wasn't home.

Damn it! A fight sounded fantastic.

I sat on the bottom step, fuming. I forced myself to remember that I didn't have all the facts.

"Screw not having the facts! I can find something." I yelled, shocking even myself. I had not intended to say it out loud.

I thought back to the message, back to what the woman – Emily, I supposed – had said… Or, more acuratly, yelled.

'Turn that Honda around and bring Claire back to La Push!'

Hmm, La Push. I had absolutely no clue where, what or who that was.

I stomped back up to my room. There is something therapeutic about stomping.

Once in my room I flipped open my laptop and Googled 'La Push.' I blushed slightly as I sifted through a few slightly dirty looking results. Then I found something. La Push, WA, just northwest of Seattle.

Washington? Huh.

'_Bring Claire back to La Push!'_

_Back_ to La Push?

You know that feeling you get when one and one are making three? Well, at that moment one and one were making purple.

I got a sudden idea. I ran to my dad's office.

I flipped through probably 95 different papers before I found what I'm looking for; my birth certificate.

I had never really looked at it before. It did not leave his hand when we needed it to get my driver's license. He said he didn't trust me not to lose it.

Maybe trust wasn't the reason.

Although from another perspective, maybe it was.

And there it was, directly under 'Name: Claire Nina Michaels.'

'Birthplace: Olympic Medical Center, Port Angeles, WA.'

It's amazing that my head wasn't on fire; this amount of anger should cause flames.

Really big flames, we're talking blow torch, not butane lighter.

I took a long, deep breath, blinking away angry tears.

I slammed the door of the cabinet I had been sifting through, probably a little too hard. It shook, but didn't fall over, it was a little with cathartic.

I ran back to my room and flopped down on my bed.

I turned to my laptop; the browser still showed the Google search results for 'La Push.' I clicked the link to switch to Google maps. I typed my address furiously and hit enter. A line appeared on my screen, connecting La Push to Omaha.

1,867 miles

Estimated Drive Time: 32 hours.

I quickly jotted down the directions on an empty take out box, the only paper-like product within arm's reach.

I jumped off my bed and took the distance to my closet in three strides. It took me less than 5 minutes to find a large duffle bag.

I got it the year I went to summer camp. I hadn't used it since, but it's not like duffle bags expire.

I grabbed a small selection of clothing; mostly jeans and tank tops. They all fit into the duffle bag with a bunch of room to spare. I threw in a few books and all my necessary electronics (camera, cell phone, iPod, and laptop) along with their respective chargers. I picked the ancient cell phone up off the floor and tossed it into the bag… Just in case.

Just in case, what? What use could I have for a dead cell?

I couldn't come up with an answer, but I left the phone in my bag anyway.

I grabbed a box from the top shelf of my book case. It contained all the money I got for graduation. (I had, after all, _technically _already graduated, all I would be missing was the last two weeks of school, you know, the ones where you don' really do much.) It wasn't a lot of money, but probably enough to pay for food and gas… I hoped.

I stopped by the bathroom on my way downstairs and threw the necessary toiletries into my bag, pausing to put my toothbrush in a plastic bag – it doesn't matter how much of a hurry you're in, throwing your toothbrush in with everything else is gross.

You wouldn't brush your teeth with dirt and lint, would you?

When I took a moment to glance down at my watch, I realized that I had only been home for a little over 20 minutes; it felt like so much longer.

I ran out the door and threw my bag into the trunk of my car, along with a pillow and blanket. Who knew if I'd have enough money to pay for hotels?

The last thing I did before I left the house was write a quick note for my dad.

_Dad, _

I scratched it out and started again

_Greg,_

I scratched that out too.

_Dad,_

_I've gone on a trip. I don't know how long I'll be gone. I have my cell in case of emergencies. Don't try to drag me home, I'll be 18 by the time you find me._

_-Claire._

In my mind I debated writing another, slightly nicer note, but decided against it.

My note was as civil as he deserved after lying to me for years.

I locked the door behind me and climbed into my car.

The adrenaline was still pulsing through my veins; I took a shuddering breath to calm myself and turned my attention to starting my car.

The idea of just up and driving to La Push, in search of people I couldn't even remember, who might very well have moved away by now was crazy.

Just crazy enough to work

**A/N: This chapter was very filler-ey. The juicy stuff will come soon, but it won't be good if you don't have to work for it.**

**Reviews are like oranges: Hard to get (you know, all the effort of pealing them) but totally worth the work.**


	3. OnePersonNamedEmily Small

**A/N: Ok, so I'm only sort of sure where all of this is going, so if you have any ideas or requests, PM me. Also, FFN was having some weird stuff when I uploaded this, so if anyone got multiple notifications that's why.  
**

**Also, quick shout outs: **

**LSUtiger0919- You're right, I do owe you. I'll try to keep updating once a week or so.**

**To everyone else who reviewed: I LOVE YOU!**

**Disclaimer: I'm just borrowing these characters. I'll return them soon.**

Ok, so… You know in movies how road trips look super fun? Well, it's pretty much a load of bullshit.

At least I was having a learning experience. I was learning a lot of new things.

In the last three days I'd learned that:

People who write movies about fun road trips have obviously never been on one, that or they're seriously repressing.

People who drive on the interstate are generally assholes.

Sleeping in your car isn't fun; it hurts your neck and the lack of shower makes you feel gross.

People who work at truck stops are creepy.

And last, but not least…

Google maps is a filthy liar.

Estimated drive time: 32 hours my ass. Who exactly made that estimation? Did their other achievements include driving for NASCAR?

I left my house at 4:00 on Tuesday, I didn't stop until midnight.

I got up kind of late - 10:30 am – Wednesday morning and kept driving till 10:30 that night.

I didn't sleep so well Tuesday night, what with the neck pain (sleeping in your bar is NOT comfortable,) so I hit the road at 8:00 Wednesday morning. If it was noon, and it was - subtracting a few hours for meals and breaks- I had driven a grand total of 22 hours.

I should have been getting close. I should have been crossing the border between Idaho and Washington any time now...

But, no, there I was, driving down I-90, watching as the lovely 'Welcome to Montana' sign disappeared in my rearview mirror. Judging by my current rate, I'd be in La Push in two more days… Not ten more hours.

It hadn't been all bad… Being alone on the interstate, just me and the road; it was kind of peaceful. But you know what else it was full of? Time.

Being alone for a large amount of time isn't usually that bad, but when I'm alone I think. Well, I always think, but, you know… I'm not usually alone. Ok, so I am alone a lot, but… whatever. You know what I mean.

Right?

Right.

After three days alone with my thoughts the spontaneous 'I'm going to drive across the country to discover my past' thing was starting to sound like a bad plan. A million 'what ifs?' ran through my brain from about the time when I hit South Dakota.

'What if I have the wrong La Push?'

'What if no one there remembers me?'

'What if they don't want me to be there?'

'What if this Emily woman doesn't live there anymore?'

I didn't know anything about this place or the people there. I wasn't about to turn around, though. I was far too curious. I might have been scared and unsure, but I still felt like this was something I had to do.

Two Days Later I finally got to Washington. According to the signage I'd be in 'Port Angeles' in 10 miles.

I was actually pretty proud of myself for making it there.

Somewhere in the middle of Montana I gave up. I had made up my mind, I was going home. I even turned on my turn signal so that I could get into the exit lane.

The moment I twisted the steering wheel something inside of me moved. It was like gravity had gotten tired of pulling down and decided to pull west instead. I was out of breath and shaking, I had to pull off to the side of the road.

I stared straight ahead for a few minutes and then I cried.

I cried because I was tired and my neck and back hurt; I cried because I wanted to go home; I cried because I _didn't_ want to go home; I cried for the piece of me that always seemed to be missing; I cried because I was running out of money and decided to skip breakfast.

I cried long and hard, and then I stopped crying and started driving. Crying – something that usually drained my energy – had somehow refreshed me.

I made a decision. I _would _go to La Push. Maybe I'd find something, maybe I wouldn't. But I wasn't giving up until I found out.

I smiled at the memory. I could still feel that odd tug (like gravity,) even as I drove through rainy Port Angeles.

I had 65 or so miles left and I was getting pretty anxious.

I wasn't sure what to do once I got there. It's not like I could just ask for Emily. Judging by my current surroundings La Push was bound to be small; but I highly doubted that it was 'Only-One-Person-Named-Emily' small.

I could ask for the last name 'Michaels,' which _might _still be my mom's last name; or I could ask for 'Young,' which – according to my birth certificate – was her maiden name.

La Push might just be 'Only-One-Family-With-That-Last-Name' small.

I'd driven through quite a few tiny towns. I was starting to wonder if asking for Emily by first name only would work. If La Push is the size of that 'Forks' place I just drove through, it might.

According to my Odometer I only had about five miles left. Sure enough, when I glanced up from my dashboard I was passing the 'Welcome to La Push' sign.

I'd passed a lot of 'Welcome to…' signs in the past few days, you do that when you're on a road trip. Odd how this was the first one that really seemed welcoming. Not 'Welcome to our town, try not to act like a tourist,' more like 'Welcome home.'

My mouth smiled all on its own.

This wasn't a bad idea or a mistake. It was home.

It was beautiful. The trees looked lovely and picturesque through the misty rain. I could see the ocean off in the distance through gaps in the trees and the scent of sea salt and floated through my open window.

Even the town itself was pretty. Lots of little houses in varying colors of faded paint, cute little shops and people walking down the streets.

I decided that the best part was that all the people looked like _me._ They all had russet skin and black hair. This was the best place I had ever been.

'Alright,' I said to myself, 'it's time to start the search.'

I parked my car in front of the first business I passed; a small fairly basic looking store. I fixed my hair in the mirror, it still looked awful (no shower in five days, remember?)

With one last deep breath I got out of my car and walked inside.

The store was small and crammed full of things. There was easily enough stuff to fill a building twice as large. The counter was small and cramped, behind it sat a huge man –he must have been at least 6'4". He looked to be about 25 and his size made him look almost comical in the cramped little store.

He ran his eyes up my body in a way that made me want to shower (even more than I already did) and smirked.

"Well, hello." He said in that 'I'm undressing you with my eyes' voice, "I'm Embry, and you are?"

_I'm slightly creeped out..._

"I'm Claire."

His face went pale – well as pale as possible for someone so tan – and his jaw dropped.

Embry's voice was shaky when he spoke again.

"C-Claire? It's r-really you?"

I nodded, confused, and he grinned like he'd just won a million dollars.

He rushed around the counter, knocking down several things as he went, and pulled me into a tight (and uncomfortably warm) hug.

"Quil is going to be so excited!" he was practically dancing.

"Who's-" I began, but he cut me off.

"We have to get to Sam and Emily's _now_"

Emily's? How was it even possible that the first person I met wanted to take me to the exact place I wanted to go? The word 'confused' wasn't really covering it.

"You know Emily?" I asked.

He laughed… hard… for like, a full minute.

"Yes," he said wiping a tear from his eye. "I know Emily."

He mumbled something else, it sounded like 'new here.'

We walked out the door, Embry stopped just long enough to flip the open/closed sign around.

"You aren't going to lock up? Someone could rob you." I asked, noting that he was leaving the store unmanned and unlocked.

He laughed again.

"It's so cute that you think that." He said ruffling my hair.

I crossed my arms and took a step towards my car, but stopped when Embry –guess what? - laughed!

"What?" I asked, irritated.

"We aren't going to _drive._ They live like two blocks from here."

I glared at him… He was really annoying.

"Right, why didn't I guess?"

**A/N: Alright, this was the last chapter that I'd already posted on my old account. Next comes an all new part.**

**Reviews are like hot coffee: They make you all warm inside.**


	4. Baked Goods

**A/N: Sorry It's been so long. I suck, and that's how it is. I've had real life things to worry about, but thats not a good excuse.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight, if I did I wouldn't be writing fanfiction.**

As annoying as he was, Embry was right. No sooner had we rounded the corner than we saw a beautiful two story house. It was blue and the mailbox said 'Sam and Emily Uley' in faded red letters.

We stepped up the little, wooden steps and onto a very welcoming welcome mat. I reached out to ring the doorbell.

Embry snickered –I was going to kill him if he did that again- and grabbed the doorknob.

"Nobody rings the bell" he said as he opened the door.

We walked inside.

I took in the bright, airy entryway and living room, which I could see through a door to my left. The inside of the house was like a cross between a mall and a grandmother's house; young and exciting, but at the same time warm and comforting, with the smell of baked goods in the air.

Embry noticed the baked goods smell before I did and began dragging me toward what I could only assume was the kitchen.

"Emily!" he yelled as we neared the entrance to the kitchen.

"There are muffins and cookies on the table" called a feminine voice.

Recognition hit me. It was her… no doubt about it. This was the voice of the Emily I had driven all those miles to find. However crazy this trip was, I was finally going to get some answers.

Embry made a sound that could either have been the word 'muffins' or a low moan. He practically shoved me into the kitchen and was at the table before I could take a breath.

I looked around the room. It was small, but clean, with that look that told you it was used often. Apart from the table there was a counter and an island. In the far end of the room a staircase disappeared into the second story of the house.

Emily stood, facing away from us, stirring something on the stove.

"Save some for your brothers, Embry.' She called out.

If Embry heard her he didn't obey.

I coughed awkwardly.

This got Embry's attention. He swallowed a mouthful of cookie and spoke.

"Emily," he said "look who's here."

"Who?" She asked, still not turning around.

"Well, look." Said Embry his voice half irritated, half amused.

Emily turned, when I saw her face I had to restrain myself from gasping.

Three long scars marked one side of her face, pulling at the corners of her eye and mouth. Once I got over the initial shock I noticed that her face was round and tan, with big, brown, almond-shaped eyes. The scars didn't detract from her beauty, but they were surprising.

The gasp still came out, but more like a muffled cough. If she noticed, Emily said nothing.

She just looked at Embry, mouth hanging slightly agape.

"Is- Embry, is that-"She seemed to be having a hard time getting the words out.

Embry finished her sentence for her.

"It's Claire."

For the second time that day I was swept into an unexpected hug. When she pulled away Emily wiped a tear from her face.

"Oh, Claire, it's been so long." She said tearfully. "You've grown up so pretty. I can't believe you're here."

When I didn't say anything she seemed to remember something.

"I'm sorry," she said, "You probably have no idea who I am. My name is Emily; I'm your mother's sister."

I nodded; I'd figured she was probably something like that, an aunt or a cousin. I'd never been around any extended family, I kind of liked the idea.

We stood quietly for a moment, before Emily offered me a cookie (or anything I might want, if I didn't want a cookie) and sat me down at the table.

"How did you get here?" she asked.

I related my trip from finding the phone to finding Embry, leaving out the part about the odd pull I had felt… still felt.

Emily nodded once I had finished my story.

"Well," she said standing up and straightening her clothes "You'll just have to stay here until you've found whatever it is you're looking for."

She crossed back to the stove and tutted at the mixture she'd been stirring.

"well, this is ruined." She said, changing the topic to how hard it was to keep glaze from burning onto the bottom of a pan.

The quick subject change left no room for me to argue about staying in her house when I could easily (well, not really) find a hotel. I thought that might have been her intention.

A few minutes later Emily was remaking the glaze she'd been working on and she and I were comfortably chatting while Embry ate.

I was halfway through telling her about the drama club I was in at school when we heard a thumping from the far side of the room. When I glanced over I saw someone coming down the stairs.

He looked very similar to Embry, but taller, with more solid muscles. He crossed the kitchen in three strides and kissed Emily's cheek.

"Claire's here." She said, pointing to me with a wooden spoon.

He turned to stare at me and then copied the other two by pulling me into a hug, it was a lot quicker than the others had been, and uncomfortably warm, like Embry's had been… If this was going to keep happening I seriously needed to shower.

"This is my husband; your uncle, Sam" Emily chimed in at my confused look.

I laughed lightly.

"Uncle Sam?" I asked, the joke obvious in my voice.

"Just call me Sam." He said, pleadingly.

I nodded and smiled.

Emily gave Sam the _Reader's Digest_ version of what I'd told her and explained that I would be staying with them indefinitely.

"Sounds great," Sam said once she had finished "Everyone is coming over in a little bit to discuss the Seth situation."

Emily nodded, her face grave. I wanted to ask who Seth was and what his situation might be, but it seemed a little personal.

"Well, honey, why don't you and Embry go and get your things?" suggested Emily.

Embry complained briefly about having to carry my things like a pack mule, but followed me back down the street to my car.

I popped the trunk and Embry grabbed my small, but heavy duffle bag, lifting it out of the trunk like it was a pillow.

"This is it?" he asked, searching the trunk for other bags.

I nodded.

"Well, you didn't really need my help, now did you?" he grumbled.

I chuckled lightly.

"Don't laugh at me, missy!" Embry said.

We both burst out laughing.

I knew that the 'everyone' to which Sam had referred must have arrived from the moment we walked through the door.

When I'd first arrived, the house was quiet and peaceful, now loud voices could be heard from the direction of the kitchen and I could hear people moving around.

Embry tossed my bag into the living room and we followed the noise into the kitchen.

When we stepped into the kitchen it looked much smaller than it had before, although, that could be attributed to the fact that there were now half a dozen more people then there had been before. They were all roughly the same size as Sam and Embry.

They must have already heard the tale of my unexpected arrival, because the second they saw me I was surrounded. I was traded from person to person, my feet barely touching the ground between each tight and hot hug.

My 120-pound, 5-foot-4 form suddenly seemed very small in comparison with these giants. I was told a list of names, I only caught a few of them.

The tallest was called Jacob, one of the smallest (oh yeah, 6'2, _so_ small) was named Colin, the only woman, a beautifully tanned Amazonian looking girl was Leah, although she didn't swarm me with the rest.

Once the crowed of giant Indian men had taken their seats, looking very cramped all sitting around the kitchen table (which had seemed so large before.)

"Claire, sweetie, they've got some business to disucuss, why don't you come upstairs with me and get all settled?" said Emily, gesturing to the stairs.

I nodded, telling her, I'd be right back. I hurried out to the living room. I took a deep breath and stood in front of my bag for a few seconds.

Overwelmed didn't begin to cover it. My mind was racing with emotions, I was excited and confused, happy that I had actually _found _something, there was still a twinge of anger when I remembered that my dad had been keeping this from me.

I allowed the warm air and homey smells wash over me, allowing my mind to be calmed by the buzzing of voices in the kitchen.

With one last deep breath I picked up the duffle bag and walked back to the kitchen. As soon as I was noticed all conversation stopped.

_Well, that was weird,_ I thought to myself as I followed Emily up the stairs.

I heard the low buzz of conversation pick back up. I was about to ask Emily about it when she stopped in front of a closed door.

"This was your mom's room" she said, twisting the handle. "she came to stay with us after you and your dad left; didn't want to be alone."

Emily pushed the door open. The room was small, but cozy. It had a fluffy looking bed and a dresser with a mirror hung on the wall above it, there was a pink arm chair in the corner. That was pretty much all that could have fit in the tiny room.

It somehow managed to look like it was being lived in and like no one had entered it in many years, all at the same time.

I set my bag down on the bed and turned to face Emily.

"Where is she now?" I asked "My mom, I mean."

I was sort of afraid of the answer; I had noticed a hint of sadness in Emily's voice when she'd mentioned my mom.

She sighed and sat down on the bed, patting the spot beside her. I took a seat and waited for Emily to speak.

"Claire, you have to understand that Monica's family was her life. She loved you and your father more than anything and when you were gone she didn't respond well."

I nodded, not entirely sure that I wanted to hear this.

"Your mom moved in with us, but mostly she just sat up here, she was sick, depressed, but she wouldn't let anyone help her."

Emily took a deep breath, she sounded close to tears.

"Monica killed herself, almost a year after… after everything."

**A/N: Ok, so was it worth the wait? At all?**

**Reviews are like sleeping late on the weekend: Fun, warm and **_**exactly**_** what you need to make it through the week.**


	5. Drop Dead Gorgeous

**A/N: Ok, so I'm not gonna give you some BS excuse. Sure, I've been away from home a lot, also I've been busy with my horse being sick and I don't currently have any kind of Word program on my computer, but if I had wanted to I could have updated.**

**But I didn't, sorry. I suck.**

**Thank you for all your supportive reviews, I'm glad you like my story as much a I like writing it.**

**This chapter is longer than usual, is that a good sorry?**

**Disclaimer: if you recognize it, it isn't mine.**

_(Announcer voice) 'Previously on 1 New Message'_

"_Monica killed herself, almost a year after… after everything."_

My face was hot and I could feel tears stinging my eyes, threatening to escape. I looked away from Emily, pretending to look for something in my bag so she wouldn't see me cry.

"I'll just leave you to unpack" she whispered.

It somehow sounded like she really meant: 'I'm sorry.' You know; Princess Bride style.

When I heard the door close I flopped down on the bed, knocking my bag down in the process. A few of the top things fell onto the floor. Looking down at them I noted my cell phone charger, a few crumpled dollar bills – all that remained of my graduation money – my iPod and my wallet. I bent to pick them up, but stopped instantly when I saw the corner of a paper sticking out of my wallet.

It was the photograph; the one of my mother and me on the beach.

The other items lay forgotten as I reached for my wallet with trembling hands. I flipped it open and removed the photo slowly, as if it were made of tissue paper. I let out a shaky breath and held the picture up to see.

It was old and faded; living in a box for a decade and a half will do that to a photo. I could still, however, make out her face. She looked so much like me. The same heart-shaped face, high cheekbones casting shadows on the lower half of her cheeks. The same full lips and tanned skin, the same big brown eyes, so dark it was hard to find the pupil.

A tear fell from my eye and hit the picture, I hurriedly wiped it off before it could soak in. I didn't want to damage the photo even more.

I carried the photo over to the mirror, holding it so that I could see both the picture and myself. I looked from myself to her, trying to find more similarities. The woman in the picture was older than me, but only by six or seven years. I found features in common wherever I looked. I had my father's eyebrows, but they were the same color as hers. The lines of our noses were almost the same, mine just a little bit smaller. Our hair was the same shiny black, hers a little longer, mine a little wavier.

She looked so happy, radiant. I tried to twist my face into the same expression, but no matter how hard I tried, I just looked sad, worn, tired.

Tears were now pouring down my face. I gave up on copying my mother's expression and allowed sobs to take hold. I lowered myself to the ground and held it to my chest, rocking back and forth.

I didn't understand. Why was I so upset? I never even knew her. I'd had to guess that the woman this picture was her. It was not like I'd lost anything.

That was a lie.

If I was honest with myself she was what I wanted to find here. I'd never said it out loud, or even let myself think it, but deep down I thought she'd be here.

And she wasn't here.

She wasn't anywhere.

"_Monica killed herself, almost a year after… after everything."_

Emily's words repeated in my mind, again and again. Each time I heard them I felt the truth sink in a little more.

I pulled my legs in closer to my chest and allowed my tears to soak through the knees of my jeans.

The door opened, but I didn't look up.

"Claire?" A voice said "Emily sent me to…" he stopped short.

I looked up to see the tall one, Jacob, standing in the doorway.

Jacob's eyebrows pushed together in a concerned expression.

"What's wrong, Claire?" he asked, walking over to where I was sitting.

"Nothing." I said.

I didn't feel like explaining myself to a complete stranger. He sighed and sat down next to me, his back resting against the bed frame, knees pulled up close to his chest.

"Right, just crying for fun, then?"

He nudged my arm, pushing me to sit up a little straighter. I complied, lifting my head all the way off of my knees. Jake looked at the photo in my hands.

"Emily told you; about your mom, I mean." He said.

It was almost a question, but not really.

I nodded my head, a few stray tears making their way down my face.

"I'm sorry." Jake said softly. "I remember Monica, she was a nice lady."

"I don't." I said, my voice a but raspy from the sobs.

"Don't what?"

"Remember her."

Jacob sighed.

"My mom was in a car accident when I was little. I don't really remember her much either."

I don't know what I had expected him to say, but that wasn't it. I sat quietly for a moment, trying to think of what to say.

"What do you remember?" I asked, curiously.

The faintest smile traced Jacob's lips.

"I remember she had the brightest smile, just looking at it made you feel warm. I remember she used to tell me stories, little things she made up. What about you, what do you remember?"

I thought back, picturing the little beach scene. I thought hard and told Jacob all I could remember.

"I have this one memory, it's not very clear, but it's all I have. We were on the beach, here I think. There were all these colored rocks and she was asking me which color I liked best."

I tried to remember more, but nothing else came. Another tear rolled down my face.

"Hey, it might not be much, but it's something."

Jacob and I talked for a few minutes. We didn't talk anymore about my mom, but we talked about La Push and he told me about the '67 Chevy he was restoring to take the place of his dying VW Rabbit. I genuinely liked Jake, he managed to make me feel better even without talking about what was bothering me. It was like his sheer presence made me happier, like it wasn't possible to be sad when he was so bright and cheerful.

I suddenly remembered that he hadn't come in here just to chat.

"What were you saying when you came in? Something about Emily?" I asked.

"Right!" Jake said, remembering "She thought you might like a shower, told me to show you where the bathroom was. She would've come herself but she said something about burning the glaze again."

I nodded.

"As it happens, I would like nothing more than to shower."

Jake sniffed at the air.

"I'll bet."

I glared at him, but followed him down the hall to a rather spacious blue and white bathroom. Jacob pointed at a cabinet and told me that it had towels inside. I smiled and waited for him to leave.

When he did I closed and locked the door. I looked at myself in the mirror. You could tell I'd been crying, but it wasn't too bad. I stripped my clothes off, folding them up and setting them on the toilet. I pulled a ridiculously soft towel out of the cabinet Jacob had indicated and set it by the edge of the tub.

I waited a few seconds after I'd turned on the water, letting it heat up before I stepped inside.

The water was warm and soothing, I let it cascade down my back and wash off all the smells of the road. I hadn't realized how much I loved showering until I was forced to miss it for three days of travel.

I stood under the water for several minutes, letting the pounding spray massage the pain of sleeping in my car out of my neck.

There were several bottles lining the edge of the tub. I found one labeled 'shampoo' and squeezed some into my hand. It smelled like lavender and I thought that would be a nice improvement from 'eau de Montana truck stop.'

After washing off the shampoo I turned around and let the water wash over my face. The warm water washed away all signs of tears.

Fifteen minutes later I felt about fifty times better. Clean, warm and fresh-smelling I turned off the shower and wrapped myself up in the extremely fluffy towel. I picked up my clothes and poked my head out into the hall, to make sure the coast was clear. It was, so I pulled the towel tighter and dashed across the hall to my room.

Once inside, I brushed my hair (best to do it while it was wet, before the curls set in) and looked through my bag for some clean clothes. I shimmied into a tight pair of jeans and then surveyed the assortment of shirts I'd brought. It was a lot colder here than I had anticipated, and even though it was May I knew my tank tops weren't going to cut it. I grabbed one that looked pretty clean and threw it on making a mental note to buy some long sleeved shirts.

I walked down the stairs feeling refreshed and much happier than I had been before my shower. In the kitchen Emily was putting a large amount of freshly cooked hamburgers onto a huge dish.

She turned to smile at me when she saw me enter the room.

"Everyone is eating over tonight." She commented when she saw me staring at the enormous pile of food.

Apart from the burgers there were giant dishes of hot dogs, mashed potatoes, corn and about four pies.

"Why don't you go join everyone in the living room while I finish up in here?"

I nodded and did as she said.

"Claire!" Embry called when I walked into the room. "We're just watching Brady kick Jared's ass at guitar hero."

He motioned for me to come join him on the couch. I sat down between him and a woman I didn't recognize. She must have arrived during my shower, along with a second woman who was sitting next to Paul.

She introduced herself as Kim and told me how glad she was that I was back. It was a little weird having so many people I couldn't even remember make a fuss about my coming back.

I spent the next ten minutes watching them play. I had never seen anyone play guitar hero, or any other video game so energetically. It made me tired just watching. After a little while they switched to some zombie game called Left 4 Dead 2. This game involved less jumping around, but a lot more shouting.

Brady won every game and Jared was cursing up a storm by the time Emily called us in for dinner. The amount of food had doubled in the time I'd been watching Jared and Brady play video games and I had no idea how an entire school could eat that much food, much less ten people. The boys rushed forward, descending upon the food like a pack of wolves.

"Ladies first!" Emily yelled, just before they reached the counter.

"Grab a plate now or there will be nothing left" Kim whispered in my ear as she began filling a plate of her own.

I put a burger and some mashed potatoes on my plate and moved over to the table. From my seat I watched in awe as the huge mound of food dwindled. By the time everyone was seated there wasn't any food left on the counter. My jaw dropped and Leah shot me a nasty look.

Dinner was fun. We talked and laughed while we ate. Embry and I talked about movies which somehow dissolved into a debate about the best horror movie. One by on the others joined in our debate.

"The Shining? Are you kidding me?" I exclaimed.

"The Shining is an amazing movie!" replied Collin.

"If you ignore the random waves of blood and disregard for the original plot." Jake chimed in on my behalf.

The argument continued for most of dinner. I joined in the conversation and pretended not to notice all the strange looks (or glares, in Leah's case) I got when people thought I wasn't looking.

Eventually dinner began to wind down. Paul and the woman I now knew to be Rachel announced that they had to get home. Collin and Brady mumbled something about patrolling and left a few minutes after Paul and and Kim decided to go home as well.

Leah practically jumped at the opportunity to leave. I had no idea what her problem was.

With most everyone leaving I decided to head upstairs and crash. I was about to say so when I heard footsteps. I turned to face the door.

A man walked into the room. He was tall and muscular like the others but he was... Hmm, what's the phrase?

Oh, drop dead gorgeous!

He stopped moving when he saw me, his eyes going wide. I felt my stomach flip over when we made eye contact.

He opened his mouth, as if trying to speak and closed it again. He repeated the process a few times before words came to him.

Just one word, actually.

"Claire."

**A/N: Alright, what do you think? Good? Bad? **

**Reviews are like hugs: They don't take that much effort, but they make people feel loved.**


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